“But why would I do that?”
So far, Cecil is not being very persuasive. I can still think of zero reasons to marry Ignora and a million reasons to marry Gwen.
Cecil reaches into his pocket and pulls out his well-worn copy of our constitution.
I hate it when he does this. How dare he appeal to my patriotism?
“Edward, I want you to remember the values this country was founded on. Our nation was formed in a time when rulers couldn’t be trusted to do anything other than plunder and kill.”
I hang my head. “I know.”
“And do you remember the event that commenced our first year as a sovereign nation?”
“A wedding.”
“Not just any wedding—the first royal wedding. The king had been caught putting the royal sword in his blade maker’s daughter’s sheath, and when his people demanded that he marry her, he did. Do you know why?”
Cecil is enjoying telling this story way too much.
“Because he wanted to show her that he truly cared about her, and by extension, his people?” At least I think that’s why.
“No. To prove that he would continue to buy her family’s swords even though she was clearly a slut.” Cecil shakes his head and continues, “But that’s not the point here. The point is that when a member of the royal family makes a promise, he keeps it. Especially you.”
Now he has me by the crown jewels. Ignora’s family is a very powerful force in our kingdom.
They own the top businesses in several industries. They’re represented in other levels of government, as well.
I’ve attended their weddings, allowed their children to run all over the palace lawn, and promised them all that I’d make Ignora very, very happy.
But what I’m doing right now with Gwen has likely pissed Ignora off, and by extension, made the rest of her family very, very unhappy.
I could live with that, though, because I know Ignora could easily find another nobleman—literally any nobleman—who would be happy to kiss the bride and take all her money.
Sure, she wouldn’t get to be the queen of her kingdom, but perhaps she could star in a reality television show instead. That would bring her all the excitement of being a queen without any of the expectations.
To her, I will be a minor embarrassment leading up to her happily ever after, in whatever form that takes. I’m certain of this.
But to the commoners, I will look like another royal playboy who cares more about fucking women than keeping his people prosperous and safe.
Why would they trust me to run a whole country by myself when I can’t even keep my dick in my pants?
I can live with Cecil’s judgment. I can’t live with theirs.
I like my subjects. They need me. And I need them.
And if I have to choose between my subjects and Gwen, well…
Gwen isn’t making it easy for me to make that choice right now, but no one said that being king was going to be easy.
It’s about duty. Honor. Sacrifice. Etc.
I turn to Cecil, ready to take my medicine. “So what do I have to do to fix this?”
“Get back in that palace and end things with Gwen before it’s too late,” he says. “If you need me to, I can help you try to smooth things over with Ignora and her family.”
Cecil pats me on the shoulder and leans against the palace wall, whistling some old tune about girls in tissue-paper pants.
I guess this is his version of playing hold music while he waits for me to agree with him.
I collapse on the palace steps, disappointed as fuck that my head and my heart are not in agreement.
I don’t want to marry Ignora. I want to marry Gwen.
Fuck the kingdom.
They can demand a lot of me…
But they can’t deny me her.
For better or for worse…I’ve made my choice.
Gwen will be my bride.
Chapter 12
Gwen
As I leave the courtyard, a million thoughts rush through my mind.
The most prominent one is of pure fucking disbelief. Did I really just blow the king in the garden? Holy shit! Someone could have seen us!
Ugh, I’ve been so reckless lately. But when I think of Edward, the taste of his hot tongue still tingling on my pussy, I can’t help but think, Fuck it. It’s totally worth it.
In the palace, I feel like a new woman. As I make my way down the grand hallway, I realize how magnificent this place truly is. I’ve always thought I was too timid to be a queen, but not anymore.
As I walk through the hallway, my heels clacking against the expensive marble, I feel more royal than ever before.
As I continue my strut, I see the Earl and his wife approaching me.
Oh, god.
I brace myself.
“Princess Gwen!” The Earl bows to me as I extend a hand, his balding head nearly blinding me. He kisses my hand then looks up, smiling, displaying his yellow teeth.
“Lady Lara and I just heard the news. Congratulations, Your Royal Highness! That was quite a shock of excitement for a dull evening.”
“Thank you for the well wishes, Earl Gilbert,” I say, taking my hand away. I always feel so damn formal whenever I’m around the older generation.
I glance at the Earl’s wife, who’s staring at me like I’m a peasant who tried to squeegee her carriage. Once our eyes meet, she turns her head away and starts admiring the gold-engraved ceilings.
Guess I won’t be getting an invite to her annual soiree this year.
“Well, anyway,” the earl continues, sensing the tension in the air, “just wanted to give you our congratulations. We’ll be making our way now. The missus needs to gossip about you.”
The wife gasps and kicks Earl Gilbert in the leg.
“I mean, she needs to go…change her shoes,” he nervously corrects himself. “Anyway, we’ll be going now.”
Lady Lara drags him away by his hand. As they walk away, I can hear him loudly whisper, “I can’t keep your lies all together, woman!”
Uh-oh. Why do I suddenly feel the weight of reality falling on my shoulders? As I look around, I feel like everyone’s suddenly watching me.
To my left, I spot two women with ridiculous hats and raccoon eye makeup. They look at me from head to toe, whisper to each other, and then laugh. It’s like the Earl’s wife secretly branded an invisible scarlet letter on me: S for slut.
Nervous, I grab two champagne glasses from a passing server’s tray.
Ah, alcohol…my only friend. You’ll get me through this.
I can’t deal with the wrath of jealous bitches while sober.
As I down champagne after champagne, I realize that my buzz is long gone. I guess that’s what I get for having like a million orgasms. Not that I’m mad—that’s one payoff I do not regret.
But as I stand here, all alone with my sober thoughts, I can’t help but feel that sense of doubt again. Do I really want to deal with a lifetime of Lady Laras looking at me like I have dog shit stuck to my Manolos?
I wish Edward was here. I feel so fucking powerful when I’m with him. Only he can reassure me that what we’re doing is a good thing, not some tabloid clusterfuck that we’ll live to regret.
As I start hunting for the waiter to get my third glass of champagne, I feel a tap on my shoulder. Taken aback, I swerve around dramatically with a hors d’oeuvre still in my mouth.
“Brother!” I exclaim as I swallow my tuna tartare. “Wow, you’re actually here. Isn’t there a yacht somewhere for you to be puking on?”
James smiles and leans in to kiss me on my cheek.
“What?” He plucks two champagne glasses from a waiter who magically appears out of nowhere. “Can’t I stop by and wish my little sister well on her, ah…engagements?”
I grab one of his glasses and start downing it like it’s Gatorade.
“It’s been quite a change of events.” I slam the empty champagne glass on the table. “Are you mad?”
“Mad?” He throws his head back and laughs. “I think it’s great! This has been the most entertaining engagement announcement I’ve ever been to. It’s like I’m on a reality show. I fucking love it.”
“So you don’t think it’s…shameful? Shouldn’t I feel sorry for Marquis de Roach?”
“Who?”
“The loser I was betrothed to since I was practically born!”
James chuckles and runs his fingers through his hair. He was voted ‘Hottest Prince’ in Teen Scream magazine like ten years ago, and he has never gotten over it.
“The weirdo with the skinny mustache? Forget that guy. Edward is the king. Think of all the power you two will have together. Screw what anyone else thinks.”
Hearing his words makes me feel so much better. He’s right. If I have the option to be queen, why settle for anything else?
I’m a queen, damn it! I’ve earned this.
But just as I’m feeling this new rush of empowerment, I see the Marquis himself, stomping through the crowd.
Well, fuck.
I grab James around the arm. “Help me disappear. Please.”
James smiles and pats me on the head. “You’re on your own, sis.”
He grabs another glass of champagne and disappears into the crowd. Damn it!
As the marquis approaches me, his eyes burning with hatred, he grabs me forcefully by the arm.
“Come with me, Your Highness,” he hisses. “We need to talk.”
Putting aside for a moment his appalling lack of nobility hierarchy, I oblige. After all, we’re in a public place, and the last thing I need is to cause myself to be even more of a spectacle. Surely, he won’t try to murder me, right?
Away from the crowd, the marquis drops all pretenses and lets me have it.
“Are you mad?” His hot breath mists my face. “You stupid, selfish little girl! Who do you think you are? Denying my engagement without even asking me? What kind of person does that? You disgusting little whore!”
I put my head down, not knowing what to say. Hopefully, this doesn’t go on for too long.
“How dare you humiliate me like that in front of all those people!”
His face is contorted in a grotesque shape that makes him look even uglier than usual. Why was I ever engaged to this guy again?
“It wasn’t about humiliating you.” My voice is so tiny and weak, it feels like it’ll break in half. “It was just an impulsive feeling I had…in my heart. I didn’t mean—”
Marquis de Roach suddenly grabs me by the shoulders and roughly pulls me toward him as he digs his nails into my skin.
“You better get your act together, little girl, or else.” His grip on my arm grows tighter as he spits into my face. “You keep it up with these stupid, whorish, impulsive shenanigans, and you’re going to become a tabloid laughingstock, just like all your slutty, dumb friends. Forget your prestige or your family name. You’ll be just another dumb slut who ruins lives because she can’t keep her fucking legs closed.”
When he lets go of me, I push back and exhale. I grip the wall and realize my hands are shaking.
Say what you want about the Marquis, but he’s terrifying. I never really know what he’s going to do. He’s a wild card.
But to make matters worse, everything he said is true. My entire family will become tabloid fodder if I marry King Edward. Come to think of it, the marquis will probably be the one to call the papers and sell outrageous stories about me.
I’ll never be able to escape it. I’ll be on the front page of every tabloid for months as thousands of women, just like the Earl and his dreaded wife, side-eye me for eternity.
Can I live with that? I don’t know if I can.
“But darling, you’re a smart girl,” Marquis de Roach says as he offers his hand. “Leave with me right now, and you won’t have to worry about that ever happening. You can live an honorable life…with me.”
I look at his palm, all crusty and dry, as if cobwebs once existed there. I try to imagine those hands running up and down my body as he fucks me, his hands caressing my breasts or burying themselves between my legs. Just the mere vision of it makes me want to puke all over myself.
But what else can I do? I don’t want to be some trashy tabloid whore who ruins King Edward’s reign. He actually cares about this country.
I can’t do that to him.
I guess I have no fucking choice.
I grab Marquis de Roach’s dusty palm and bite back my urge to recoil.
“Okay, let’s go.” My voice sounds so pathetic and sad, I can barely stand it.
But even that is not enough for the marquis. He opens his mouth and raises his head, expecting me to say more.
“Let’s go…fiancé,” I sigh.
Chapter 13
Edward
“Cecil, why does it really make any difference who I marry? It’s not as if marrying Ignora brings anything special to the kingdom…”
Not to mention that Ignora, I can quite honestly say, is one of the most repulsive human beings I have ever had the misfortune of meeting.
Cecil gives me a level stare. “Because Gwen is gone, my King.”
The news hits me like a hoof to the head.
Gwen…gone?
It doesn’t make any sense—but what reason does Cecil have to lie?
“Why?”
It’s the only thing I can think to ask.
“Her family, perhaps, my King. Or perhaps her own sense of honor—she did give her word to the Marquis de Roach after all…before your, er, ministrations convinced her to marry you instead.”
A cold, oily blackness settles in the pit of my stomach.
Is that really how Gwen felt about me—about us?
“Cecil…I have to get her back. What do I do?”
“It looks to your commonwealth as if you’re playing around with them, saying you’ll do one thing then doing another—you appear impulsive and unable to stand by a decision made in your—and the kingdom’s—best interests.”
And damn it, I know he’s right.
But I can’t just take this lying down, so to speak.
“But if I renounce my engagement to Gwen and go back to my original engagement to Ignora, won’t that look even more like I can’t stand by a decision?”
Cecil shakes his head.
Damn. Of course, he has a reasonable explanation for this. Just my luck.
“Going back to your original engagement will demonstrate to your subjects that you are willing to sacrifice your own personal whims—” I flinch at Cecil calling Gwen a whim, but say nothing, “—to do what is right by your country. They will respect you for it. And we cannot allow her and the Marquis to set the story here—so we must act quickly.”
And he’s right, no doubt about it.
I sigh heavily. “I get it, Cecil. I do. But dammit—this country isn’t worth losing Gwen over, and you know it.”
Cecil gives me a knowing smile.
“Gwen has left you, sire. Though you’re unaccustomed to it, this is a matter in which you do not have a choice.”
“I could steal her back.”
“And start a war? I think not. This is your duty, my King. Were you a common man…”
“But I’m not a common man.” I don’t need to hear it right now—I’ve heard this speech many times before.
Duty before heart.
But Gwen’s not just my heart—she’s my fucking soul.
“I never doubted you would do the right thing, Your Highness. You have always stood by your duty in the end. You make your nation proud.”
God damn it, using patriotism against me.
I think of Gwen, and I feel my heart twinge painfully.
I can’t marry her. Can’t even be with her.
For one glorious, rebellious second, I entertain the notion of abdicating the throne for Gwen—stealing her away from the fucking Marquis de Roach, her family and honor be damned.
But Gwen’s honor means more to me than my own desire
s—and there’s no one to abdicate to. The entire country would be thrown into anarchy—all because I couldn’t keep my cock in my fucking trousers and my heart buried deep out of sight.
Both of those things are fucking impossible with Gwen’s shapely little body anywhere near me—not to mention her own sweet heart.
But if Gwen doesn’t want me anymore…
Christ. I should have kept my heart buried.
It would have hurt less than uncovering it only to feel it shatter in my hands.
If Gwen doesn’t want me anymore, that settles it. I can’t force her to take on the queenship of an entire kingdom, forsake her family and her own engagement just for me.
I have a responsibility towards my country now. And I want to be a good king.
Gwen deserves a man who can give her everything. Not just a kingdom, but an entire fucking world.
And it’s finally hitting me…that man just isn’t me.
So, I’ll do it. I’ll marry Ignora.
And I’ll lose my fucking soul so my country can survive.
Suddenly, the banshee herself lets herself into the room without so much as a knock to announce her arrival—Ignora.
I wince as if I’ve just been forced to swallow some particularly sour medicine.
To my horror, Cecil stands up and makes to leave the room. I motion for him to stop.
“You can stay, Cecil. I insist.”
But Cecil shakes his head after taking one look at Ignora’s furious, scowling face.
“I really should leave, Your Highness, so that the two of you can…mend your relationship.”
He inclines his head at Ignora—who rudely chooses to ignore him—before vacating the room.
For the sake of my country and my throne, I’ll make this work.
Even if it kills me.
“Ignora,” I begin mildly, “I apologize for the earlier ceremony—”
“Cut the bullshit, Edward! Do you know how humiliated I was? Do you?”
I don’t, because I don’t care, but I imagine Ignora’s pride was mightily bruised by the whole affair.
I walk towards her, but she holds a hand out to keep me at bay.
I wonder how long I’ll have to keep up this farce of an apology before she accepts.
Because of course, she will accept. She has too much to lose.
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